


Difference of Two Nerds

by dearcst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Confessions, Crushes, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Tutoring, cute nerds dorks, insecure!cas, nerd!dean, punk!Cas, some angst because it wouldn't be complete without it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearcst/pseuds/dearcst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel asks Dean to tutor him in Algebra. The thing is, though, Dean has always had a bit of a crush on Cas, and Cas has some insecurities. Why would someone as perfect as Dean Winchester waste time on a scary-looking, rebellious spirit like Cas?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difference of Two Nerds

 

                Dean was getting lunch with Charlie and Jo. Or not really “getting” because they all packed their lunch from home. The three of them sat at their usual table, starting to dig into their bags for bland sandwiches and bags of chips. Charlie always started the conversation with Star Trek and shipping wars, which Dean was definitely okay with; Kirk and Spock conversations were the best conversations.

                Dean pushed his glasses further up his nose and leaned on his elbow, propping his head up with his hand. It was mid-year—somewhere in February. Dean liked to keep to himself, not because he was shy, but just because he was comfortable with who he had already. And trying to make new friends was like sorting through weeds for flowers. Dean crunched down on a Doritos and watched Jo’s face crinkle up with laughter at something Charlie said. Dean wasn’t paying close attention, though.

                Somewhere amidst discussing subtext, a tray slammed down next to Dean.

                Dean would like to claim that he’d never laid eyes on the guy in his life, but that would be a blatant lie. I mean, the guy walks around with his hair frizzed and blue and spiked, tattoos on his arms like he got his parents’ _permission_ for that, and don’t even mention the piercings. _But_ , Dean didn’t know his name. That wasn’t a lie.

                “Dean,” oh the guy knew _his_ name. That wasn’t fair.

                The breath was knocked out of Dean’s lungs by the punch of blue eyes. Wow. Nope. Nope. Dean had his whole “I’m bi” realization a few months ago, but if he wasn’t convinced already he could practically feel the _gay gay gay_ raining down on him like magical little rainbows. Shit.

                “Y-Yeah,” he stuttered, “What’s it to you?”

                The guy smirked crookedly as if it was just too much effort to smile completely. Maybe the lip ring weighed him down a little.

                “I heard you’re smart,” the guy said, “and I’m failing Algebra.”

                Dean blinked. His hands tapped on the table absently and he chewed his lip like gum. He was probably blushing too, shit, he was bad at this. What didn’t make much sense was that Dean was a freshman, and with this guy’s vibe, the punk was definitely upperclassman. How could Dean possibly be of any help?

                “I’m in intermediate Algebra. It’s a college class but it’s basically just review of all the shit we learn in high school classes. You’ve passed the PERT, right, so you gonna help me out here?”

                Dean’s mouth felt dry—yeah he was great at math. It made sense. But he couldn’t get his voice to work.

                “He’s free!” Charlie chimed in behind him.

                Dean whipped his head around, baffled and a little grateful.

                “Mm, nice,” dude _purred_ —Dean was going to die. That’s for certain. His stomach was already doing all these fluttery things it hadn’t done since fourth grade when Lisa Braedon gave him a kiss on the cheek. The dude slid a piece of paper over. “Here. Call me.”

                The guy had already written out his number before Dean even said yes—that shouldn’t be a turn on, nope, nope. The piece of paper was small, like it was a ripped corner of notebook paper. There were eight scrawled digits and a name under it.

                _Castiel_

                Dean took in a deep breath.

                “Oooh,” Charlie sang, “Dean’s gotta _crush_!”

                Jo laughed beside her.

                “Shut up,” Dean mumbled, “I do not.”

                “Invite me to the wedding!”

                “I’ve got flower girl covered.”

                “Shut up!”

~~*~~

                Dean sucked in the air around him and held it inside his lungs possessively. He stood outside an intimidatingly large, fancy door. It had to have been ten feet high.

Dean had decided to text Castiel as soon as school let out. Castiel responded immediately—of course he did; there’s nothing he didn’t do that drove Dean insane—with the address of his house and a time to meet him there. Dean held tightly onto his bag, eyes flickering around the entrance for any sign of what to do.

                The door swung open a few minutes later. Cas was standing there, eyeliner sharp and precisely clean; he smiled widely and stepped to the side. Dean probably mumbled something like, “hey,” but I wouldn’t place any bets. For the entire first semester of high school Dean had been pining after this unattainable figure flashing in out of his vision like lightening—quickly, yet impactful. Memorable.

                The house was big. Tile floors, nice furniture. Dean’s eyes were wide, and he catalogued every detail he could, storing it away in his head. He was a bit in awe, not only of the fact that Cas’ house was fucking huge, but also just the fact that it was _Cas’ house_. Dean’s lips parted for a moment, but he couldn’t think of anything eloquent to say, so his jaw clicked shut again. Cas shot a look back towards him, and Dean immediately looked at his shoes. His face felt hot, he knew he was blushing, and he hated it. The last impression he wanted to give Cas was that he was a little kid, incapable of being on ground level with him. Maybe friendship wasn’t too out of reach now? Anything more would always be out of reach—I mean _look at him_. At both of them. Nerdy, awkward Dean, blushing at something as simple as eye-contact. And then Cas, cocky yet smooth, really fucking hot—yeah it’s out of the question.

                Dean bumped into Cas’ back. He hadn’t realized Cas’d stopped walking. Cas was shorter than him by, like, an inch or two, but he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Was it the eyeliner? It had to have been the eyeliner. Cas was smiling crookedly again, and Dean’s heart thumped, thumped, thumped. Fuck.

                Dean held his breath, and suddenly they were sitting on Cas’ bed with their math books open in their laps. Dean’s eyes flashed up at Cas’ for a moment, touching on his nose and lips and cheekbones, up close and beautiful. Dean wasn’t any artist but he’d kill for a nice charcoal drawing of those lips.

                No, no, no, Dean would _behave himself_. Dean bit his bottom lip as they went over homework problems. Cas was right. Everything was basic Algebra.

                “What’s this supposed to mean?” Cas gestured to the book exasperatedly, “How does _x 2_ -16 factor into (x+4)(x-4)?”

                Dean felt calm again, washed by the familiar language. This, he could do. He leaned over Cas’ shoulder and looked at his book.

                “Oh. It’s a pattern: difference of two squares. Any time you see, as the pattern’s named, a difference of two squares, you take the square of both and factor it like that. So x times x is equal to _x 2_, and 4 times 4 is equal to 16. That’s why it factors like that.”

                A few moments passed, quiet, stretching moments, causing Dean to feel nervousness creep back into his chest.

                “Um. Get it?” Dean stuttered, and looked over at Cas’ face, a few inches from his own.

                He suddenly felt his heart jump to his throat, his stomach stirring in something somehow comfortable. Dean had never seen anyone look at him in the way Cas was looking at him right now, so intense and full of desire. Dean swallowed thickly, breathing deeper and letting his eyes flick down to Cas’ lips and linger there, without really meaning to, honestly.

                Cas started to lean forwards and just as their lips touched, Dean stumbled to whisper, “Um. Um. Difference of two squares. Does it make sense?”

                Dean could feel his lips touch Cas’ with each word, just a breath apart. Cas looked at him incredulously, his eyes saying, _seriously?_ And yeah Dean could kind of agree with him. Why weren’t they kissing already? The crooked grin was back and Cas leaned forward just a bit more and Dean stopped breathing.

                Their lips met, soft and plush, unmoving. After a few seconds Cas opened his mouth and closed it again overtop Dean’s, wetting Dean’s chapped lips. Dean gave a small, surprised noise, and tilted his head, pushing his chin out a little to fit into a better angle. Like one accelerates from a red light to green, the kiss flowed from stop, to slow, to faster, and now Dean was gasping, left out in the deep end. Cas had total control of this, not that Dean wasn’t okay with that, (because he totally was.) Dean bit Cas’ lip on accident, pulling Cas’ lip ring into his mouth.

                Cas groaned low in his throat and pushed Dean over on the bed. Their books fell and hit the floor loudly. Dean absently wondered if the pages were getting bent or if the binding was going to get damaged, but then Cas bit Dean’s lower lip in retaliation from before, pulling it and the letting it go again.

                Dean slung his head back on the mattress, mumbling, “Oh, _God_ ,” and then Cas started kissing his jaw. “Cas,” Dean said. Cas didn’t pay attention to him though, his palm laid flat on Dean’s heaving chest. “Cas,” Dean tried again, and this time Cas did stop.

                If Dean thought Cas was hot before, he was—was there a sexier term than that? Dean wasn’t familiar with words like these. Cas’s eyes were lidded and dark, hair dangling in front of his eyes, the gel messed up, making it stick up in weird places. Cas didn’t say anything, but his eyes were asking Dean for the reason he stopped him.

                “Um,” Dean blushed, “I. What. What are you doing?”

                Cas blinked, blank-faced. “What do you mean, ‘what are we doing?’ I thought it was fairly obvious. I want to have sex with you.”

 _Shit. Yup. He wasn’t imagining this_. Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Um. Yeah. I,” he stuttered, “Why?”

                Cas sat up, “You don’t want to?”

                Dean’s cheeks flushed darker, “I-I didn’t say that—I just—We were supposed to be doing math?”

                Cas blinked again, slower. Silence hung heavy over their heads before Cas opened his mouth again.

                “Are you turning me down for quadratic equations?”

                “W-Well—“

                “Oh my God,” Cas groaned and picked his math book up from the floor.

                Cas was looking at the book, but his eyes were far away somewhere else. Dean’s fingers twitched in an absent desire to do something, but then he just picked his own book up from the floor. He found the page again and read the next problem.

                “Sorry,” Dean blurted, “I didn’t mean to lead you on, and, like, stop like that, I mean if you want, I can, or, well, whatever you want, I don’t know if you—“

                “Dean,” Cas interrupted, “It’s okay. I don’t mind if all we do is study. I didn’t invite you over for that.”

                Dean nodded to himself, or maybe to Cas, Dean was unsure about a lot of things at the moment. Like why he even stopped Cas in the first place. Maybe he could just throw the books aside and try again? Would Cas react well to that?

                “Besides,” Cas mumbled, still looking at his book with a small almost-smile, “It’s cute how you like math more than me.”

                “That’s not—“

                “I’m teasing you.”

                 Dean’s face heated up, and he stared a hole through the textbook. He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, but he refused to look up to see if it was true. There was something about the fondness in Cas’ voice that made Dean want things that he never thought he could want from someone as rough-looking as Cas.

                Dean managed to stay sort of on topic for the rest of the hour, and then, much sooner than he’d hoped, Dean was awkwardly waving goodbye. He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, starting to mumble some kind of if-you-ever-need-any-more-help-just-let-me-know speech, and then bolted out the door.

~~*~~

                And that’s sort of how it started. After that day Cas had come up to Dean again and said that he really didn’t understand the homework for the next night either, and again the next day, and again the next day. Cas hadn’t tried to kiss Dean again, much to Dean’s chagrin, (he was currently berating himself for pushing Cas away that first time,) which was driving Dean insane. Dean often had a difficult time reading people and their emotions, but even he couldn’t deny there was serious tension between him and Cas.

                Then there were those moments—it happened every time Dean headed for the door after the hour was up— where Cas would look as if he had a novel sitting on the tip of his tongue only to swallow it down again. Of course Dean could just be mature about this and ask Cas what he felt for Dean, but that would mean talking about _feelings_ , and Dean was never good at that.

                It’d been almost two months. Now Dean was standing outside the men’s bathroom, (had been for almost six minutes now,) watching boy after boy enter and then run back out and around the corner, pale-faced and fear-stricken.

                Enough was enough, Dean tentatively approached the door and opened it. There were four stalls, all of them empty except for the last one in the corner.

                “Get the fuck out!” a voice screamed just as the door shut loudly, effectively signaling that someone had entered.

                The voice was raspy and angry, and Dean almost obeyed and darted out again like the last two people had, but the voice was familiar. Dean _knew_ that voice.

                He approached cautiously, and even more so asked, “Cas?”

                There was a short pause, and then Cas’ voice was back, weaker, “I said to leave, shit-face.”

                Dean felt a pang of hurt, but brushed it off because Cas was most definitely not in his right mind. His Cas, who was always so careful, would never say something so rude.

                Dean pushed on the stall door, but it was locked.

                “C’mon, man, you gotta let me in. What’s wrong?” he tried.

                “I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Cas bit back, “Now get the fuck out of here and leave me alone.”

                Cas’ voice cracked on the last word and it was at that moment Dean realized Cas was _crying_. Cas, bad-ass guy who looked like he’d crush you with two fingers was crying alone in the back of the bathroom.

                Dean touched the stall door, palm flat to the metal.

                “Cas,” he asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

                Cas sniffled; Dean’s heart ached. He felt the need to protect him flare up inside his chest. He clenched his teeth in undirected fury. His hand fisted against the door.

                “Cas,” Dean said again, uselessly, meaninglessly.

                “Go away,” Cas tried one last time, but his voice was defeated and small.

                “Never,” Dean countered; it almost sounded like a promise.

                Cas sniffled again and shuffled behind the barrier of the door. The door unlocked and swung open. Cas was a _mess_. His hair wasn’t done at all, floppy and messy as if he’d just woken up and come to school without touching it. His clothes were the same as he was wearing yesterday, and his eyes were red and puffy, surrounded by a cloud of smudged, dark-blue eyeliner.

                Cas was still staring at the floor. He swallowed thickly and crossed his arms over his chest.

                “Cas,” Dean said, again, and took a small step forward, hand out as if to touch him, “What happened to you?”

                “I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” Cas blurted, voice shaky and brittle, “I don’t look right, I don’t sound right, I’m not smart or charming or anything anyone expects of me—anything _you_ expect of me. I can’t—I can’t be what I want to be for you, I don’t deserve someone like you, someone _perfect_ like you, and I just—I—I know all this and I don’t know why that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be with you. It should make me give up on the idea that you could possibly reciprocate—”

                Cas’ was cut off by Dean pulling him into a tight hug. His words dropped from his lips like a rock from a cliff. Cas was shaking in Dean’s arms. Dean held his shoulder with one hand and his waist with the other. Dean’s face was buried in Cas’ hair, breathing in and out and in and out, chest heaving with desperation to make Cas stop saying such terrible things.

                Dean held Cas like that for half of another minute, dropping his chin on Cas’ shoulder. He rocked from left to right with Cas standing dumb-struck in his arms.

                “You’re wrong,” Dean murmured, “I like you a lot. More than math.”

                Cas laughed abruptly and clutched onto the back of Dean’s shirt.

                After a few moments, Dean said softly, “You know, I kinda have a crush on you.”

                “What?” Cas asked incredulously, and he would have pulled back if Dean hadn’t had a firm grip on him, “On me? Why?”

                Dean scoffed and shook his head, burrowing into the crook of Cas’ neck. His neck was warm and reddened with a soft blush.

                “Have you seen yourself? You’re nothing you just tried to say you were. You’re really, really smart, and you’re caring and sweet even if you don’t look it,” Dean paused, debating whether or not to continue, “And before I even knew all that you were just really hot and mysterious so excuse me for being interested.”

                That caused Cas to laugh, chest moving up and down, and Dean lost his balance and fell against the side of the stall, and then backwards. He caught himself with his elbows and forearms. Cas was looming over him, palms flat to the dirty bathroom floor, hair over Dean’s eyes, thighs pressed against Dean’s.

                They were breathless. Their hearts beat in unison, and like the last puzzle piece fitting into place, there was a kiss.

 


End file.
